Page 6 of A Rugged Beauty
Collin's left hand cupped Stella's elbow. His wife leaned into him, her body language showing relief as his arm slid around her waist.
Alice wrung out the pair of pants with a mite too much force and splattered water on her skirt.
"You need any help?"
Coop, Collin's twin and Alice's youngest brother, appeared from outside the ring of wagons, coffee cup in hand, and moved to squat next to her.
Alice used the back of her wrist to wipe her brow, that one strand of hair still tickling her nose.
"I'll manage," she murmured.
She flipped the next item—the last one, thank the Lord—into the sudsy water and stole the coffee cup right out of her brother's hand.
"Hey." His protest was weak. Almost as weak as the coffee. Alice made a face and handed him back the cup.
She plunged her hands into the water, swirling the shirt to soak it.
Coop nodded to Collin and Stella. "Think she's in the family way?"
Alice’s eyes darted to where Collin had his arm around his wife. Something hot and prickly lodged behind her sternum. She pulled the sopping shirt out of the water and began rubbing it over the washboard. Drops of water scattered everywhere. Coop’s brows went up.
"It's early," she muttered to the board. Collin and Stella had only been married a few weeks, after he'd discovered her true identity and they'd fallen for each other.
"She's been poorly the last couple mornings," Coop said.
Alice shook her head. "She could've eaten something that didn't agree with her."
The first two weeks on the trail, Alice's stomach had been off. She'd blamed food, cooked over a campfire. But maybe it was more than that. Alice's entire life had been upended to take this journey west.
"Blech."
She glanced up at Coop's groan and caught Collin's quick peck against Stella's lips.
"Now I'm the one feeling ill," Coop muttered.
Alice's stomach had knotted at the affectionate gesture. She didn't begrudge her brother his happiness. Or Leo, her older brother, either. Even their half-brothers, August and Owen Mason, had found happiness on the wagon train.
Alice was happy for all of them. She liked their wives—even Rachel, who'd been an acquired taste. But Alice had thought she would be the first one in their family to settle down. To marry. To have children.
She'd been horribly wrong.
It had to be ironic that Robert Braddock chose that moment to cross between two campfires on the far side of the circled wagons.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered. His hat had once been white, but it was stained and dented now. His fancy duds hadn't fared well on the trail, either. She saw the hole—unpatched—in the knee of his pants. The old Alice, the one who'd still had dreams, would've worried that he wasn't eating, or taking care of himself.
He wasn't looking her direction.
She was a foolish girl to give him even one moment of her thoughts.
Just before she steeled herself to look away, Alice saw his hand flex at his side.
No. His thumb and forefinger formed a circle, other fingers spread wide.
He wanted to meet.
It was their special signal. Or it had been, once upon a time.
Her knuckles scraped against the washboard. She gasped and looked down at the same time. Pulling her stinging hand out of the tub. Her knuckles were raw and pink.
